Conspire
by Kalimyre
Summary: Greg knows the universe is out to get him. There’s no other explanation. Preslash.


Conspire

By Kalimyre

Pairing: Nick/Greg

Rating: NC-17

Category: Pre-slash, PWP

Summary: Greg knows the universe is out to get him. There's no other explanation.

Notes: This is one of those stories that pops into being fully formed and hijacks my brain until I give in and write it. Shameless porny porn. With honey garnish.

000

Greg Sanders had suspected for a long time that the universe hated him, and when Nick walked into the locker room soaked to the skin, with something golden and sticky oozing down the side of his head, it was confirmed. The universe took great delight in fucking with Greg's head. He knew it.

Greg froze, one foot propped on the bench in front of him, his hands hovering over his sneaker, laces looped around his fingers. He gaped at Nick, who stomped past muttering something under his breath and tossed a glare in Greg's general direction.

"What...?" Greg managed, yanking his eyes off Nick's pants with effort. They were khakis, and so soaked they clung to Nick's legs, not transparent but oh, so close.

"Don't ask," Nick growled, tugging at his sodden sweater and wrinkling his nose.

Greg nodded faintly. His hands were still frozen in place over his half-tied shoe. Nick turned, facing him, and Greg's eyes dropped to his waist like they were attached to lead weights. The muscles in Nick's thighs were visible, the lines molded against the wet pants, shifting and moving as Nick leaned to one side. Apparently, Nick had dressed to the left that day.

Greg's eyes began to burn and he remembered to blink. The sweater was safer territory. Soaked, just like the rest of Nick, but too bulky to show much; it was a misshapen lump sagging around Nick's waist. Not even Nick could make that look sexy.

Unless, of course, he took it off. Greg closed his eyes briefly and swallowed, his suddenly dry throat making a dull click. Nick gave a little shiver in the cool locker room and oh, Greg knew he shouldn't look, he really, really shouldn't, but... yep, his nipples were hard. Tight little pink points and Greg reminded himself that breathing was a good thing and he should really start doing it sometime soon.

Nick made a disgusted sound and Greg jerked back, breaking his wide-eyed stare at Nick's chest to meet his eyes. But Nick didn't seem interested in what Greg was looking at (and why would he? He doesn't care if you think he's fucking hot, Greg reminded himself. Because the universe hates you.). He was trailing his fingertips through his hair and trying to scrub more of that golden, sticky stuff off.

Greg took a deep breath and caught a double whiff of rain and... something sweet? "Is that..."

"It's honey," Nick said, hunching his shoulder slightly. It looked like someone had dumped a whole jar of the stuff on his head, and it was slipping down the side of his neck now.

"Honey? What?"

Nick gave him a forbidding look. "I told you not to ask."

Greg dug into the reserve of smart remarks that he kept for just such occasions as this, and said, "Don't worry. There's some things even I don't want to know."

"Funny," Nick said flatly. He opened his locker and began rummaging inside, murmuring something about how he damn well better have some spare clothes in there.

Greg turned on the bench with all the self control of a compass turning to point North. The honey was moving with impossible slowness. A shiny trail going behind Nick's ear, and then down the side of his throat; it pooled in the little dip at the center of his collarbone. Greg licked his lips. If Nick leaned forward just a little more, just a _little_...

Oh yes, there it was, going down his chest. A little, shimmering rivulet, sliding easily over wet skin, and was it going to skate to the left of his nipple, or would it actually go right over it?

"Greg?"

The universe was a terrible, evil, malevolent being out to get him because god yes, it was going right over that nipple, coating it, golden clear over pink and Greg couldn't quite close his mouth. He stretched toward Nick, making a low, strangled sound... oh, that just wasn't fair. Another trail, right down the center of Nick's chest, down the hard line of his abs, and into his navel, another tiny pool. Greg licked his lips again.

"_Greg_?"

"Huh?" he managed, swallowing hard and becoming very, very focused on his shoe. Which still wasn't tied. "What?"

"You okay?"

"Um," Greg said. "Right. Yes. I'm..." He considered trying for another smart remark, but was fairly certain he would draw a blank, and besides, that would require stringing more that two words together in a coherent way.

He stared fixedly at his shoe, and there was movement to his side and then, chalk up another point for the universe, because that was Nick's _hand_ on his shoulder, warm and heavy. Greg felt goosebumps break out all down his arms and on the back of his neck and he shivered.

"You seem a little distracted," Nick said and even his _voice_ was like honey and how was that even remotely fair? It wasn't. Totally unfair. The universe played dirty.

"Just, uh... tired," he replied. Greg shot to his feet and started edging toward the door, dragging his untied shoe on the floor so it wouldn't fall off. "I'm actually off now, and I should get going, because I think I'm on call today in case something comes up and I should try to sleep in case they call me in even though they probably won't because no one on days likes to deal with the whole, you know, training me thing but Catherine puts me on the on call list anyway so I can get the experience and, uh... I'm going to shut up now." He caught one last look at the baffled expression on Nick's face, and then he bolted.

Five running, slide-shuffling steps down the hallway, he had to fling himself against the wall to avoid plowing into Grissom. Who stared at him like he was a particularly strange and crawly species of bug. Greg closed his eyes tightly and hoped very hard that when he opened them, Grissom would be gone and he'd be home in his own bed, having a very bad dream.

He opened his eyes. Grissom was still there. Shit.

"Heading out?" Grissom asked, still eying him with that intent I-see-right-through-you gaze.

Greg nodded, forcing a weak grin. "Um, yeah. Got to hurry. Hot date." With his right hand, the second he got in his front door. Possibly in the parking lot.

Grissom raised an eyebrow. "I thought you were on call?"

"They never call me," Greg said, sliding along the wall, toward the exit.

"That doesn't mean you're excused from being prepared," Grissom replied. Greg nodded agreeably and hoped like hell that Grissom wasn't winding up for a lecture on how to keep his kit and equipment in total readiness like the one he'd gotten from Warrick that time. Greg was going to die of terminal sexual frustration if he did, right there in the hallway, and how would _that_ look on the death certificate?

Grissom took a step closer to him, and gave him a sweeping, assessing stare. A tiny frown line appeared between his eyebrows.

"Greg," he began in a curious tone. Greg closed his eyes again, very briefly. Grissom had noticed. Of course. He noticed everything. And how was Greg going to explain an erection in the middle of the lab?

"What?" Greg said, bracing himself for the inevitable.

"Why is your shoe untied?"

Greg opened his mouth. Shut it again. Blinked. "It's the latest style."

Grissom frowned at him. "It's not safe."

"Right," Greg said, faintly aware that his voice was much higher than normal. "Won't happen again."

Grissom nodded, gave him one of those vague, stern looks that could mean anything, and walked away. Greg leaned on the wall, considered sliding down it to the floor and curling up until his head stopped spinning, and then discarded that idea. Nick might find him that way. With his luck, Nick would come out in the hall still shirtless and coated with honey, just because the universe liked to torture him.

He looked to either side, gauged his odds of making it to the door alive, and made his move. Parking lot, car, already hot inside with the sunrise, but the baking warmth barely registered. He slammed the door behind him, slipped a hand beneath his waistband and squeezed firmly, grunting and squirming in the seat. It was so, so tempting to do it right here... but no. That would be tempting fate, and fate had already shown a marked tendency toward kicking his ass.

Greg drove fast, blasting something loud with a pounding beat, trying not to think. He couldn't quite resist rubbing himself through his pants at every stoplight, keeping right on that edge because when he finally got home and could finish this it was gonna be so good. He grinned, feeling a bit manic around the edges, giving a little wriggle of anticipation as his apartment building came into view.

He took the stairs two at a time, the rough stretch and bunch of his jeans almost enough to tip him over before he even got inside, but not quite. Then finally, finally, against his closed front door, opening his jeans, shoving them down his hips, moaning in relief as the constricting pressure eased. Right here, he was gonna do it right here and it wouldn't even take a minute. He slid one trembling hand down his belly, thinking of Nick's skin, the honey warm and sticky on it, and... wait.

He'd waited too long to end it with thirty seconds of jerking off. He wanted this to be _good_.

Greg stripped on the way to the bedroom, dropping clothes on the floor, toeing off his shoes and tossing his shirt to land half-draped over the back of a chair. He stretched out on the covers, enjoying the soft, cool sheets on bare skin, reveling in sensation. Slowly, he thought. Slowly.

The honey had started at Nick's neck, dripping down from his hair, just behind his ear. Greg trailed his fingertips along his hairline, tracing the rim of his ear delicately, then lower, barely touching, knowing all the sensitive places on his throat. He closed his eyes and pictured Nick, bare from the waist up, honey dripping everywhere, in the locker room but this time Greg didn't sit and gape dumbly; he sprang up, pinned Nick's wrists against the wall and licked the honey up. Sucked his earlobe, nipping lightly, trailed the tip of his tongue along Nick's throat, feeling his pulse jump, hearing him gasp.

Greg shifted restlessly on the bed, groaning low in his throat. He stroked his fingers lower, along his chest, circling one nipple. He pictured his mouth on Nick, lapping up that honey trail, teasing. Nick would beg, he decided. In that low, soft drawl, he'd beg for Greg's mouth, writhing against the wall, already painfully hard. It would be so obvious in those soaked khakis, standing out, wanting to be touched. Wanting him.

Lower now, lower, but still so slowly. Greg's fingers traced his ribs, circled his navel, dipped in briefly. Stroked the sensitive patch of skin beneath, firm, careful circles, just so. He'd bite Nick there, he thought, just a little bite. Nick would jump, startled, and his dick would twitch. Greg would tease him a little more, dipping his tongue into Nick's navel, licking up all the honey while Nick begged him for more.

Higher now, making Nick wait, making him squirm and plead and struggle. Licking up the center of his chest, visiting his nipples again, hot under cool honey, pebbled and slick. He'd lick one gently, nip the other, keeping Nick guessing, keeping him flooded with sensation. Greg drummed his heels against the bed, arching, grinning as his fingertips grazed his chest, touching his nipples. Oh, he knew what he liked, and he'd know what Nick liked, too. He'd make Nick feel so good that he'd never want anyone else.

Nick's begging would take on a desperate, breathy tone now, his head thumping back against the wall in frustration, his hips jerking. Greg smirked, imagining Nick's dark eyes, pupils so dilated they looked like sheer black; those eyes would be fixed on him, wanting, pleading. Nick would say he needed Greg, he loved him, he wanted him so much. Please, he'd say, so pretty when he begged. Please.

Down again, still slowly but with more urgency, another bite to the underside of his belly, the sting soothed with wide, flat licks. Then Greg would undo Nick's pants and peel them down, exposing wet, hot skin. Nick would jerk forward, trying to get Greg's mouth where he wanted it, pressing down on Greg's shoulders once his hands were freed. But Greg would not be rushed.

On the bed, he stroked his inner thighs, whimpering a little, arching into his own touch. A light tracing, just around the base, then again, firmer, and oh he wanted it. That's what Nick would say, too, he wanted it, wanted Greg so damn much. Please, please, and Greg would smile up at him.

"Thought you'd never ask," Greg murmured, his words muffled against the pillow as he tossed his head back and forth. He'd gather a bit of honey from Nick's chest and smear it on his dick, coating the skin, making it glisten, and then he'd lean in and lick, so delicately, around the tip. Nick would make a sound, a long, low moan and Greg would smile around his dick and take a little more. Sucking now, but lightly, enough to sharpen the need but not enough to bring him off. Nick's hands would thread through his hair, clenching slightly, his hips tensing against Greg's braced hands, where they pinned him in place.

Another long, flat lick, up the underside of his dick, gathering the honey and swallowing it down, then another, lingering at the tip, flicking it with his tongue. Nick's moans would be almost constant by then, wordless and desperate, his legs trembling, all the muscles taut.

Greg was sweating heavily now, his heart thumping in his chest, each breath a heavy rasp in his throat. It was so hard, so hard to stroke gently when he wanted to squeeze and pull and oh god he was close. A high, whining sound escaped his mouth, and then another, almost shrill sound, like... like...

Oh hell no. No. That was _not_ his phone. And even if it was, he wasn't answering it. No way.

Except... he was on call. And if he didn't answer, those dickwads on days wouldn't bother leaving a message. They'd write him off as couldn't-be-reached and it wasn't like chances for field experience came along every day and if it got back to Grissom that he hadn't answered the call...

"_Fuck_," Greg muttered fiercely. "Fuck, fuck, fuck..." He grabbed his phone off the bedside table, punched the talk button, and brought it to his ear. "What?" he snapped.

"Greg?"

Greg bit his lip hard and swallowed a groan. Not only did the universe hate him, it was a fucking diabolical genius determined to get him using whatever nasty tactics necessary.

"Hey, Nick," he said.

"Hey, there you are," Nick said, sounding pleased. Not half as pleased as he'd sounded in Greg's head, though, and oh he really shouldn't let his hand creep back down but it wanted to so very badly, and he only had so much self control.

"There I am," Greg agreed and god, was that Nick breathing? Right in his ear, breathing, and Nick's voice, low and warm and he really, really had to stop. Right now.

Greg cracked one eye open, peeked down, and swallowed a frustrated wail. He wasn't stopping. Couldn't.

"I was wondering, you wanna do something?" Nick asked, and that tone, that inviting tone, full of self-assurance. Nick wasn't asking, he was confirming because he knew, that tone said. You know you wanna, come on, you know it.

"What did you have in mind?" Greg asked. There was no way Nick didn't hear the strain in his voice but hell, how could he be expected to sound calm when he was on the verge of what promised to be a fucking _spectacular_ orgasm?

There was a pause, with more of Nick's breathing (right there, so close Greg could almost feel it, warm and moist on his neck, teasing his ear), and then Nick said, "I'm not sure. I was... well, you seemed a little stressed out earlier, actually. I could tell you about the honey, if you want."

"The honey," Greg echoed and he could taste it, he really could. He gave himself a firm stroke, and then another, twisting a little, rubbing just below the head and fuck fuck fuck he had to stop because he was _loud_ when he came, he knew that and in about ten seconds Nick was gonna know it too.

"Yeah, you remember, in the locker room. It was all over me, man. Do you know how long I was in that shower, trying to clean it all off?"

Greg bit his tongue hard before he could say how happy he would have been to help and that was it, that last image of Nick in the shower, naked and flushed and with water sheeting down his skin and it was just too much. Nick's voice was right in his ear, soft and a little amused, warm and close and **_oh_**.

He turned his hand and bit the side of his palm, thrusting hard into his other hand and oh god, that had so been worth waiting for. He cried out, he knew that, and there was a pretty good chance Nick's name had been in there somewhere but he really didn't care right then. His vision blurred and his hands and feet tingled, half numb, and this gorgeous heavy warmth spread out from his belly. Greg sagged against the mattress and grinned sleepily up at the ceiling.

"Greg, you there? Are you okay?"

He fumbled with the phone, then put it back against his ear. "Mmm?"

"Did something happen? I thought I heard you yelling." The words were right, but the tone was way off. Not Nick's usual earnest concern, but something low and knowing and smug. Almost a purr.

"Whuh?" Greg mumbled, trying hard to keep his eyes open. "M'fine."

"You sound a little out of it," Nick said, and then he gave a soft chuckle, a sound that suggested he knew the joke and he liked it just fine.

"You caught me in bed," Greg said. "Think I'm half asleep still." Or half dead. Possibly all dead.

"In bed," Nick echoed, and Greg could hear the smile in his voice. "I'll bet."

A sliver of alarm wormed its way through the haze surrounding Greg's thoughts. "What?" he asked, frowning.

"You know, why don't you come over here?"

"Why?" Greg asked cautiously.

Another throaty chuckle, and was there a little catch to Nick's breathing now? A little half swallowed moan? Just what exactly was Nick doing on his end of the phone line? "Because I've still got lots of honey left," Nick said, and before Greg could process that, he hung up.

Greg stared at the phone, blinking dazedly. Nick. Had just. Invited him over. For sex. With honey. Honey sex. Nick.

And he was still on call.

Greg flopped against the bed, covered his face with his hands, and knew if he listened carefully, he could hear the universe laughing at him.

000

Finis

June 21, 2005


End file.
